Medicine
by murdercrowther
Summary: He took this all his life. Now an injury wakes him up to the reality. With the substance gone, his processor clarity is better than ever before. But was that the right thing to do? Prowl's days after Quasson.
1. Quasson

**MEDICINE**

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**READ THIS: **I would like to state that I don't write slash. Ever. In one of my Fanfictions - Objectives - it states in the first chapter that it was a slash piece. That is entirely incorrect. I was newer to the site then, and did not know these terms. If it seems like slash, trust me, it is not. I do write romances, but it is usually between a cannon character and my OC. I never have, and never will, write slash. Thank you. This Fanfic is not slash. If it seems like it, it is not. It is also much darker than any others I have written.

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**THE ARK**

**19: 04 P.M**

Prowl sat at his office desk, quietly going over reports. The day had been eventless. No explosions, no Decepticon attacks, no pranks. Just a peaceful, calm, normal day…

His office door slid open to reveal the Twins along with Ratchet, Ironhide and nearly the entire crew of the ark. All covered in…

Maple syrup.

One thought went through his mind – _You have got to be joking._

Releasing a weary vent, he placed down the datapad he was reviewing, and turned emotionless optics on them, mask of neutrality in place. "Care to explain?"

"Yeah!" Cliffjumper exclaimed. "These glitches thought that bombarding us from the Ark's air vents with these… sticky bombs… to be entertaining!"

Prowl's door wings flinched minutely at the loudness of the Bot's voice. He turned his attention to the Twins. "Do you deny this?"

Sideswipe shifted on his pedes while Sunstreaker scowled – as usual. They made no move to answer. The SIC refocused on the – evidently ticked off – group behind the front liners. "And what do you suppose would be an ideal punishment?"

Almost instantly, suggestions were flying. There were ones like 'Brig' then there was 'Monitor duty' and then there was a 'Hang them!' – The last one was not considered, although it was widely visualized. During the chaos, the tactician opened the lowest draw in his desk to see if he still had a few cases left. He frowned. The substance was running particularly low. He would need to restock later.

He closed it again and focused on the arguing mechs. "That is enough." Silence. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you shall spend two weeks in the brig. Then you shall assist Wheeljack in his scientific endeavors until he finds no more need for your help."

At this though, the Twins immediately decided to object. "No, anything but that!" Sideswipe shouted.

Sunstreaker nodded. "Just kill us now why don't you?"

Prowl ignored them. "Ironhide, please escort them to the brig. Wheeljack will be informed of his new assistants presently. Please go clean yourselves up and report back to duty." He stood up, grabbing several datapads, and went towards the open office door. The gathered mechs parted as he walked by.

The terror twins looked pleadingly at the others, but all they received were glares. Ironhide shoved them. "Come on. Aint got all day… oh wait. Ya do." He grinned evilly.

Once the front liners were around the corner, the others voiced their opinions. "I know they deserved it, but that was very harsh." Bumblebee stated.

"Hmph! If you ask me, it wasn't harsh enough." Ratchet interjected. He stormed off then, muttering something about acquiring spare parts from the recently locked up brothers. Nearly everybody cringed in pity, regardless of what had happened. And some smiled in anticipation.

Prowl stalked down the hallway, door wings stiff. He hated doing this, but the pain was far to excruciating to allow. Ever since leaving Cybertron and arriving on this planet, his main supply had been from stealing the cases from Wheeljack's lab.

The inventor hardly noticed, because he never touched the stuff. But, as was with all science extremists, they apparently must have extremely rare substances that they don't even use. He supposed it was a closure thing. As long as you had it, you were an inventor.

Typing in an access code to Wheeljack's lab, Prowl braced himself for any explosions or flying objects, or a crazy Autobot who eventually lost it after so many failed attempts at inventions.

He was surprised – but hid it – when he found the mech going over calculations on a datapad. He sent an entrance ping to the Bot, signaling that there was another being in the room. Wheeljack looked up, startled, but then spotted Prowl. Once again, this was unusual, as the SIC hardly ever came near this room. Thinking about it, nobody ever did. For safety reasons.

"Hello Prowl, what can I do for you?" He greeted the tactician, before instantly going back to his calculations. He had something that he was working on currently, and the algorithms needed to be placed in very soon, or… boom.

The Praxian took that opportunity to enter, and make his way round to where the substance he needed was stored, while simultaneously talking. "I have come to inform you that in two weeks time, you shall receive assistants to help you in your… attempted inventions."

"Is this volunteer, or punishment?" The inventor asked, already knowing the answer though. Prowl kept walking.

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker." That was all that needed to be said. He stopped in front of the usual shelf, and saw the three glass vials containing it. It. His optics trained on that for a while, till eventually he snapped out of the daze.

He only had to take this every other orn so he didn't use it up very quickly. It helped that he had been technically dead for four million years so that it wasn't exhausted immediately. The Bot just worried about the day when he would eventually run out. On Cybertron, this substance could be found or produced, but in small quantities. It had been given to him by a Cybertronian on the street when he was very young, barely in his second frame. It was a 'Supposed' medicine for a 'Supposed' problem that his creators had said he had with his processor. It was called Quasson. He always kept telling himself it was medicine, but a voice in the back of his mind just kept whispering that it was an addiction. A drug. It soothed the sharp thoughts of his processor, and allowed a continuous reprieve from having an avalanche of answers and calculations batter his mind. He had forgotten what it was like to think clearly. Everybody aboard the Ark believed that he did. But if they knew how much more he could process without this… it could possibly be deadly. And it was thanks to his sire that he needed to take this. If he had just been taken to a proper medic, he may not be addicted to this substance. But, if he quit now, then he quit living as well.

Prowl had never told this to anyone, not his leader, nor his closest friend. Even Ratchet didn't know about this and he was a medic. The Bot was reluctant to say anything for the reason that he would most likely be locked up, and not deemed fit for service. He would be scorned. What SIC set an example like this?

He still remembered the seedy part of Praxus where his creators had taken him all those millennia ago. Surely they could have afforded enough to take their own sparkling to an actual doctor? No. It was deemed cheaper to go to a half baked slagger on the corner. Twenty thousand credits for a proper treatment. Only a hundred for a few cases of Quasson.

He reached for the closest case of his 'Medicine'. Quickly sub-spacing it so that Wheeljack did not see, he made for the exit.

Evidently, he did not get out in time, for the next thing he knew, the inventor was scrambling around grabbing all sorts of things and placing them in subspace. The Praxian watched him, before asking. "What are you doing?"

"Uh… let's just say that something is going to blow, and it is going to blow big. I couldn't get the formula in to the machine in time, so…" He left the unfinished sentence hanging, and continued to grab equipment. Prowl now understood the severity of the situation. If Wheeljack was endangering his life to gather things from his lab, then it was very likely that this explosion would destroy many items.

He instantly ran over to the Quasson, and sub-spaced it. He picked up other things as well, so as to help the other mech, and not make it look suspicious. He grabbed the strange equipment that the inventor had scattered around, not knowing what most of it did.

A sudden screeching sound from the machine had Wheeljack shouting that they needed to get out. They just reached the door when it went off. Till this day, residents of Portland claim that it was an earthquake.

The fiery explosion surrounded them, and Prowl could feel the intense heat melting through his armor. How was this fire powerful enough to destroy Cybertronian alloy? He cried out in pain as his door wings turned to slag. He could vaguely hear the other Bot he had been with, but the corners of his processor were beginning to fade away, as he tried to scramble away from the lab – unsuccessfully I might add. He cursed his sire again. If he hadn't come here for the Quasson, he would never have been caught in this.

His legs buckled out then, and he lay on the floor, as the fire ate away any armor he had left. He could no longer see through his optics. Prowl had never experienced pain such as this. He knew that Wheeljack's inventions usually ended up… not working. But this one topped it all.

His spark constricted in pain, as the covering was eaten away. He now knew what it felt like for his victims, when acid destroyed their sparks. He clawed at the now almost liquid metal floor. His optics cleared briefly and he saw the fire. He saw the now open wires that covered his arms, noted that the familiar black and white covering no longer existed. He didn't know how long he had been there, it felt so drawn out.

The pain was all consuming. The Praxian wished Primus would take him. Take him from this war, take him from this pain. Take him from the never ending cycle of addiction he had fallen into. Prowl didn't bother lying to himself at this point, it would do nothing. This was the closest he had ever come to death… just a little bit longer and he would be freed.

His optics began to offline as darkness consumed him. But before slipping into the eternal world he had been hoping for, a sense of coolness settled over him. Then he was being dragged. But that was all he knew, before blacking out.

* * *

**THE ARK**

**19: 12 P.M**

Jazz sat in the rec room. There were still traces of maple syrup there, but mainly in one corner, where there had been a screen that had been playing an intriguing video. The saboteur had to hand it to the Twins. They sure knew how to pull a prank. Luckily for the master spy, he had been spared such an atrocity.

Ironhide stalked into the room, still covered in the sticky substance. Jazz held back a laugh, and watched him walk to the energon dispenser. As if sensing the suave Bots amusement, the weapons specialist turned to him with a scowl on his faceplates.

"What? Ya find something amusing?" He demanded. The TIC smirked.

"As a matter of fact, Ah do. Why are ya still covered in this stuff?" Jazz asked. The scowl fell from the large mechs faceplates, and he came and sat next to the social mech, a cube of energon in his servo.

"Because I just got back from putting the slaggers in the brig. For two weeks. Then, they are gonna be Wheeljack's scientific volunteers." An evil smile graced his expression.

And now, the saboteur couldn't help but laugh. They sat in silence for a few moments after, and watched as other Autobots filed into the room, ones that were now currently off duty, and had cleaned up their appearances. Glances were sent towards Ironhide, as he was still covered in syrup, but he just replied to them with a glare which sent mechs scampering.

Ratchet eventually stalked in, muttering curses. He as well looked over at Ironhide, but then turned his attention to getting an energon cube.

"Ya gotta hand it ta them, they sure pulled of one pit of a prank." Jazz restarted conversation. The reply was a non-committal grunt. The saboteur downed his cube and waited for a moment. He was now off duty for the night, and he'd be able to get a good recharge. He wondered if Prowl had recharged in the last few weeks. He worried for his friend's well being. The SIC was one of those Bots who believed that he could run on fumes. Usually the only way to get him to refuel or recharge was to pester him, or crash him. Either one worked. "Hey, ya saw Prowl today yes?" He asked Ironhide. The weapons mech nodded. "Did he seem like he hadn't refueled or recharged?"

The large Bot thought that over. He knew that the Praxian hardly ever looked after his own needs, so it was up to others to make sure he remembered, "Uh… I don't think so. I only saw him quickly, and then he left after punishing the twins."

That was news to the saboteur. The tactician rarely left his office. And it was for good reason. "Where'd he go?"

"Don't know. I was too preoccupied in dragging Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's afts to the brigs. I tell ya, one day those Bots are gonna end up killing themselves. It'll either be trying to fight Megatron, or by our servo when they eventually push us to the breaking point. It would be my personal honor to do tha-" His joking – debatable – was cut off by a loud explosive noise. Louder than normal explosions. Everybot was now on guard.

"Do ya think that came from 'Jack's lab?" Jazz asked. It was a possibility. Ratchet was already moving as he knew that the inventor would most likely need medical attention. In fact, a lot of the Autobots there decided to take a look.

Even Ironhide – regardless of the fact he was still covered in syrup – wanted to go see how the craziest mech aboard the Ark finally accomplished such a huge and spectacular explosion that it made the metal beneath their pedes shake. The saboteur sighed as nearly half of the rec room was cleared out. They were always so nosey. Human expressions.

The medic arrived at the scene first to see the scorched walls, and then the leaping fire that came from the lab. He then saw a dark servo reach out of the door, and went to it. He stopped instantly though as he neared, and felt the extreme heat coming from the room. He knew that if he didn't get Wheeljack out in time… well then the Well of Allsparks was gonna have a new member.

Hoping he himself didn't die, but also having his medical instincts override any personal discomfort had, the CMO went forward, and grabbed the servo. Being careful to not hurt the inventor anymore than he already may be, Ratchet pulled him out. He gasped at the brutal sight of a barely conscious Wheeljack. He began working immediately, absently noting the presence of many other Autobots, some who were staring at the burning lab, others who were staring at the terribly battered form of the 'Crazy' mech. His armor had thoroughly melted off in places, and he was drawing in ragged vents of air, so as to cool his heated frame. Ironhide came closer, and kneeled next to Ratchet. The medic looked disconcerted at so much damage to one Bots frame, and his hands shook very slightly.

Wheeljack turned his optics to the medic and weapons specialist with great pain. He lifted his servo towards them, in a meek attempt to gain their attention, for other than his wounds. He tried to speak, but instead a static gurgle escaped. He tried again, and this time accomplished something. But it was to quiet for them to hear. The trigger happy weapons specialist leaned in closer, as Ratchet was far to preoccupied in keeping the inventor alive.

The Bot said it again, and this time, Ironhide heard perfectly. "P… Prowl…" the servo pointed towards the still burning room.

"Slag!" The large mech shouted, which startled everyone. The CMO didn't falter in his work, but sent a questioning ping to the Prime's bodyguard. He didn't get a reply, as Ironhide was already barking orders.

"Get that fire out now! We need to get in as soon as possible. Don't question me on this, just do it!" As if by some act of fate, Inferno came forward with a much larger version of a fire extinguisher. Fitting.

Ironhide took it from him, as well as barking more orders for larger quantities of the human water, which was usually used on fires. If anybody questions me on any of this, don't bother. I am very bad at anything 'Fire', so don't complain.

Wielding the transformer sized object – which had been simultaneously invented by Wheeljack, henceforth there was more potency against the fire – the large mech braved the heat, hoping that the SIC was not too far in. He felt the flames lick at his armor, and he hissed in pain. He cleared a section and spotted what looked like a Cybertronian frame. He instantly began clearing in that direction. He didn't have a perfectly clear view, but it was viewable enough for him to grab onto the SIC's servo and pull him out of the lab.

Once out he released a vent of air he had been cycling. Looking down at the form he had removed from the inferno, he held back a horrified cry. If this was Prowl, it was now very hard to tell. Nearly all armor had melted away, mainly leaving wire, and open internal components.

But what shocked him most was that he could see the mechs flickering spark. That was never a good sign.

He looked around for Ratchet, but the medic was no longer there, having taken the already extremely injured inventor to the med bay. This was a set back. Prowl needed to be seen to immediately or else…

He didn't want to think about it.

He noticed that the mechs who hadn't gone to get other means of putting out fire were staring open mouthed at the sight before them. And another thing he noticed was that there was another Praxian in the midst of those watching. A young Praxian.

Ironhide turned his optics towards Bluestreak, and saw the look of horror that graced the young gunner's faceplates. His door wings were shaking at the sight of his mentor. While it might be hard to tell who the mech was physically, his faction ID gave a pretty clear indication.

The weapons specialist turned away, and picked up the SIC. "Get the fire out. One of you inform the Prime of this. Then return to your duties." Currently, nobody questioned his authority, and went along with it.

He made his way down the halls, careful to keep his view away from his superior. Ironhide did not know how much pain the tactician was in, and he didn't want to think about it.

He kept at a slower pace, so as not to have the Praxian be in more agony than he already was experiencing. But that resolution was thrown out of the figurative window, as he knew that if Prowl wasn't treated soon, no matter how much pain he was in, it would be better than death.

Slamming into the med bay, he drew Ratchet's attention away from the instable Wheeljack – both in mind and body. The CMO stared at the mangled frame in Ironhide's arms, and instantly directed him to a berth. It was times like this that the medic wished he had other help.

The weapons specialist placed down the unidentifiable body of the SIC, but found his pedes rooted to the ground in an act of fear.

Ratchet hooked Wheeljack up to an energon line, after sealing off all the cut… Cybertronian veins. He then went over to the worse frame of Prowl, shooing the larger mech out of his way. With great difficulty, Ironhide left the med bay, and returned to the rec room.

The weapons mech found Bluestreak sitting next to Jazz, while the saboteur tried to gleam what happened from the young gunner. He was refusing to speak though, as his processor played back the gruesome images of what just transpired.

Ironhide – still covered in maple syrup, which somehow didn't get burned in the grand fire. Turns out that experiment isn't affected by the human substance from trees. Make of it what you will – walked over and placed a servo on the Praxian's shoulder. He jerked up in surprise. While his mind had been so distracted, his acute sensors had not detected the presence of the weapons specialist beside him. Bluestreak sent him a questioning glance. "Is he…"

The larger mech's optics softened. He knew that Prowl was basically a father figure for the young Bot. So he opted for truthful lying. "Ratchet is taking care of them."

That evidently did not lift the other ones spirits, and Jazz continued to look confused, as no one had informed him on any of the events happening. "What's goin' on 'Hide?" He asked, instantly serious, as the usually hardened warrior was letting his guard down to comfort a mech.

His gaze snapped over to the saboteur, and he gestured the mech outside of the room. The spy stood, and walked ahead. Ironhide sent one last comforting glance to the Praxian, before following.

Jazz stood outside, arms crossed over his chassis as he regarded the larger Autobot who had just stepped in front of him. A serious expression covered his features, one which he incorporated whenever undergoing an interrogation or being the interrogator.

"Alrigh'. What was so important that ya couldn't simply tell meh in there?" He pointed back at the rec room.

Ironhide sighed. "Because the things I'm gonna tell you don't need to be heard by Bluestreak. Though he already knows a lot about it, there are a few things I'd like to leave out." He paused as the saboteur eyed him with cold optics. "The explosion caught two Bots in the crossfire. Wheeljack – as it was his lab – and Prowl." Jazz's helm jerked back in surprise, but didn't comment.

The weapons specialist continued. "The explosion was slagging powerful. I don't know what 'Jack was doing at the time, but the whole lab ignited. And not just with normal human fire. Anyway, Ratchet dragged Wheeljack outta the inferno. We then later learned that Prowl was in there as well. I went in and dragged him out. Neither of them was identifiable physically. Their armor was totally gone. Prowl's spark was visible for slag's sake! And… well I'm not holding out much hope on either of them surviving. Their internal components had been subjected to the heat coming from that fire, and…" He trailed off, leaving the inevitable hanging in the air.

The TIC just stared in shock. Why in Primus was he always the last to hear about these things?

"Do we 'ave any idea what he was workin' with when tha explosion went off?" Jazz asked.

"No, not a clue. Skyfire may know, but he's currently in Siberia, going over something about… I don't know, something science like." The larger mech replied. "We can't get a communications signal to him, as there's a storm raging. It'll be some time before we hear from 'im."

They lapsed back into silence as both mechs thought about the events of the day. Everything had been going just great- no, spectacular, till the Twins decided to pull that prank on those unfortunate enough to watch the video. The video of a cat playing a piano.

Eventually Jazz broke the quiet. "So… not much hope, huh?"

"No. For either of them. Ratchet's gonna be allowin' us in to say goodbye before they'll ever survive-" The weapons specialist's dark musings were interrupted.

"Remain optimistic Ironhide. They may yet pull through." The powerful voice from which the reply came from was tinged with a slight amount of sadness. Optimus stood a few meters away, his presence automatically calming. "I am positive that Ratchet is doing fine. And we shall be seeing them soon. Alive."

* * *

**THE ARK**

**20: 08 P.M**

The CMO cursed under his breath as his patients spark rates slowly began to decrease. "Slag it Wheeljack! You're usually the Bot helping me with this! And Skyfire just has to be away at the moment doesn't he!" Rushing over to the inventor, he began to work. Prowl had been placed in a medical stasis so that any other conditions would not worsen.

The extensive damage on his friend's form overwhelmed Ratchet. While Wheeljack had gained a lot of injuries over the vorns due to his failed inventions, this one topped the lot. Now if only Prowl hadn't been there, his job would've been so much easier.

Drawing in a draft of air, he began working on the more sever internal damage. He would need to install replacements, splice destroyed energon lines, reconnect wires…

The list goes on.

Oblivious to him, Prowl was locked in his mind, looking back on everything he knew. The war, his work, becoming SIC, meeting Jazz, meeting Prime, fighting, Cybertron, Praxus, the crystal gardens, circuit su, his home…

He went back to his past. He had been told that there was a problem with his processor. That if he wasn't helped, there would be pain. But he had never experienced pain from it. His mind had worked perfectly. The pain began after.

Every time Prowl had to wait for the Quasson his mind would feel as though it was being torn apart. When he was younger, he had never even thought about it. But now…

Now he had control.

He had control when he was away from reality. His mind may still be a haze after years of the drug. He wanted to know what it was like to see clearly. To be able to analyze everything with perfect clarity. To know. It would take a while. The substance wouldn't be out of his system instantly. And there would be pain. He just had to stick it out.

The Praxian was distantly aware of a presence beside him, but the haze blocked anything else. That and being in stasis.

Prowl knew that his condition was serious. But he was not going to die this day. Not until he was… clean.

That was the word.

A small amount of pain shot through his spark, but subsided almost instantly. The tactician knew he was in the med bay. He knew that Ratchet was trying to repair both him and Wheeljack. And he knew it must have been hard on the medic.

Prowl tried focusing his mind. He wanted the peace of knowing he was free from the bonds that had held him back from his full potential.

He continued this for a long time. He did not know or even notice the passage of hours or days. He remained focused on his mind.

Till at one point, the sharp tearing pain entered his processor. It was agony but he could not cry out. It was consuming. His mind felt as though it was being eaten away. Acid against his thoughts and memories.

He wished to give in.

He couldn't.

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PLEASE REVIEW

I shall update as soon as I can. I hope you enjoyed this, and again, reviews would be great. Much darker than usual works.


	2. Black Out

**MEDICINE**

* * *

**THE ARK**

**19: 04 P.M**

Ratchet had been working non-stop since the accident. It had been twelve days since the explosion, and he had neither refueled nor recharged in that time. He wondered how Prowl was able to go for several weeks without doing either and still function.

No one had heard from the CMO. Nobody knew of the conditions of the inventor and SIC, but were remaining hopeful that since they had been in there so long, there may actually be progress.

Jazz and Optimus stood outside of the med bay. Along with Skyfire, who was explaining mathematical formula's to them which helped in the explosion that so severely injured the two mechs. Neither of them was listening to say the least.

Ratchet released a weary vent. After hours upon hours of surgery, he was finally done. Wheeljack and Prowl were repaired and stable. A feat of amazement to say the least. After cleaning all of the equipment that was used, he exited the med bay.

All attention was on the CMO as he came into the hallway. Before any question could be asked, he raised his servo to silence them. "They are fine. The damage was extensive, but they survived. I'm going to bring them online now, but neither is to be on duty for at least the next week."

"How come?" Jazz asked.

"Because I had to replace literally everything. I may as well have taken out their sparks and placed them in another frame."

"So… ya're sayin' that they'll look different?" The saboteur thought that prospect over. He would most definitely not get used to it.

Ratchet sighed. He really needed a break, not answering useless questions. "No, they do look the same. I simply removed the destroyed internal mechanisms, and placed new armor on the melted areas. It is complicated."

The Prime answered before Jazz could begin questioning again. "Thank you Ratchet. May we proceed into reawakening them?" An affirmative nod had the three Bots walking into the room.

Skyfire greeted the medic. "Hello Ratchet. How bad was it?" From scientist to- well _half _scientist, it made more sense in technical terms.

The chartreuse mech looked at him pointedly. "Remember when we were on Cybertron and we went to Tarn and a riot had broken out and we found that-"

"Oh… that bad. Poor 'Jack. That must have been terribly painful. And Prowl to. What was the SIC doing in Wheeljack's lab anyway?" The aerial Bot interrupted the recollection, not wishing to bring back to horrific memories.

"No idea. But we'll find out soon enough. Come on, let's get this over with. A heads up though, they may attack us." Turning away from the scientist, Ratchet gave warning. Skyfire blinked.

"Why?"

"It may have slagged up their processors a bit, but nothing permanent. They'll come to if that happens eventually. May last a few seconds or a few minutes." He stalked into the med bay and gave off as much intimidation he could muster given his exhausted state. It's not like he needed to, he just wanted to keep up appearances.

Deciding for safety's sake, he went over to the less likely to harm them Bot that was still in stasis. Wheeljack looked peaceful in this state, as if numerous failed inventions hadn't destroyed his mind. Skyfire stood behind him, wanting to speak with the inventor about the mathematical algorithms that he had used which set off the explosion. Jazz and Prime stood further away.

Ratchet reached over to the back of his patient's helm. "Alright. Bringing him online now."

Barely a moment later did Wheeljack start thrashing, crying out that it wasn't his fault. His optics were shuttered, and his arms flailed around in an attempt to hit something. The CMO restrained his right arm, calling out to the hallucinating inventor. "Wheeljack! Calm down, you're in the med bay!"

With that, movement ceased immediately and his optics shot open. "I'm not dead?" There was relief in his voice. A confused look spread across his features. "But… the explosion-"

"Was deadly and very powerful." Ratchet finished. "You and Prowl are lucky to even be alive right now. It took me four days to fix you two up! Don't ever try something like that again!" The medic was wielding a wrench, but his expression betrayed him. He was glad that there weren't any complications.

Wheeljack sighed, and sat up in the berth, making his way to standing up. Only for his legs to give out from underneath him. The medic caught him by the arm, stabling the Autobot. "You're gonna need to get used to… well your new legs, seen as the other ones needed total replacements. You're off duty for the next week though." The inventor's faceplates lit up, but were crushed as the CMO added. "Meaning no inventions."

Glaring at Ratchet, Wheeljack made to reply, but was stopped as Skyfire leapt into a conversation about the equations and formula used which created such a deadly and horrific explosion.

Satisfied that one of his patient's was now preoccupied, the medic walked over to where Prowl lay prone on the medical berth. Jazz came and stood on the other side, prepared to interject if the SIC lashed out. The Praxian had an almost serene look on his faceplates.

Ratchet reached to the back of the tactician's helm, and activated his systems. They braced themselves. But nothing happened. Instead, Prowl on-lined his optics and stared up at the two Bots standing over him. He blinked up at them. "Are you dead as well?"

Both of the mechs hesitated at that question, wondering if Prowl was… well in the processor. Jazz chose to answer. "No Prowler. We're alive. And so are ya."

The calm expression fell away instantly, replaced by the familiar mask of neutrality. "Oh. I apologize."

"What are you apologizing for? 'Jack's the one that nearly got you killed. If anything he should-" Ratchet returned to his more intimidating state, but was stopped by the SIC.

"I do not blame Wheeljack for that. I was there at the time and did not order an immediate retreat. We stayed and removed objects that would most likely be destroyed, neglecting our own safety in lieu of preserving pieces of equipment." Throughout his explanation, he had sat up from the berth. And Ratchet's anger had grown to the point of un-sub-spacing a wrench.

"You willingly stayed there even though you knew the danger?!" He shouted. "What is wrong with you slag brained glitch heads? Were you trying to get yourself killed?! You…" He continued muttering curses, while Prowl cringed in pain. His processor felt like an energon dagger was being stabbed into it. And there was so much noise…

"Please be quiet Ratchet." He ordered, one servo going to his helm as he stood up. The world was unstable, but he managed to stay upright.

The medic scowled. "No slaggit! What you two did was idiotic and got both of you in the med bay for twelve days! So don't even think of telling me to be quiet because you slaggers need to know how serious-"

He stopped when he realised that Prowl was already pinning open the door. "What are you doing?"

"I am returning to my office. I have work to do. And it is better that I don't have too much backlog-" He was stopped from leaving by Optimus placing a servo on his shoulder plating. Another sharp pain went through his processor as he looked up at his leader. "Sir?"

"By Ratchets – and my own – orders, you and Wheeljack are to have the next human week off. Meaning no work." He explained. Prowl blinked. No work? But he had to work. Work was a distraction from being stuck on this planet, with disrespectful recruits, and organic beings. He needed work slaggit!

The SIC made to retaliate. "But sir-" Once again, he was cut off.

"No Prowl. Your office will be blocked off. You shall simply have to make do with your quarters." His tone signaled that there was no way out of it. Ratchet huffed.

"Yeah, now maybe you can actually recharge and refuel without us having to force you to." There was a scowl on the medic's faceplates. The Praxian looked questioningly up at his commander.

"My… quarters?" He then remembered that he did have a room. He just hadn't been in it for the past four million years. Even when he was revived. All his time was spent in his office. His safe haven. The place he had total control of.

"Yep." Jazz affirmed, grabbing the tactician by the arm. "And ya're goin' there right now. Ah have never seen inside a' yer room." The door slid open and he was pulled out into the hallway, where a few other mechs were now standing.

"Can't I at least acquire a few book files before I am entirely blocked off from my office?" Prowl pleaded. The saboteur shook his head.

"Nah mech. Ya are gonna actually talk ta tha crew for tha next week. Ya know, _socialize_." The word was like a disease to the Second in Command. He sighed.

"You can stop dragging me now. This is a new arm, and I'd like for it to stay on." Prowl ground out between clenched denta. Jazz let go, but still kept walking. The Praxian begrudgingly followed, wondering what his room did look like after all those millennia.

They arrived at a door in the hallway. Unlike others, this one was grey. When touched, it was actually soot. The TIC sent a glance towards Prowl. "When last did you use your room?"

He thought about it for a moment. "I went into it once when we first boarded the Ark. That was about the duration of time I spent in there."

The spy raised an optic ridge. "So… ya've been rechargin' in yer office all these years?"

"Yes. There is a berth in my office Jazz; it is just not visible to most. And it is rarely used." It was stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The saboteur continued to stare at him before shaking his head.

"Ya really need ta start lookin' after ya self mech. Startin' by actually usin' yer quarters." He accessed Teletraan 1's database and located the code for Prowl's room. Typing it in, the door slid open.

And a wall of dust collided with them.

"Primus!" Jazz cursed waving away the floating dirt, shafts of light cutting through the dust. "This is insane!"

"I hardly see how this is insane. It is simply natural after neglecting to use my quarters in the past four millennia." The Praxian contradicted. Eventually, the sheet of grey settled enough so as to let them see into the room.

There was still a thin layer covering the furniture and belongings, but most objects could be made out. There was a berth, a desk, and a chest. Hanging over the berth was an energon sword. There were several datapads on the desk, as well as two holo-cubes that had not been activated.

The saboteur stepped inside, not noticing Prowl grasp his helm in pain. The Quasson had not left his systems entirely. But he already could sense a change in perspective. Things were becoming more obvious. More… clear.

"Wow mech. Never knew ya had an energon sword." The TIC stared at it, intrigued. The Praxian let go of his helm as the stabbing pain subsided.

"Yes. I had completely forgotten about it till now. It is a prized possession." Prowl walked in beside his friend, and went over to the datapads, picking one up. It was a list of tactical plans. He had also forgotten about these. And some were really good. They could use these. He sub-spaced them, turning back and refocusing on the long forgotten room. It was like a memory that had been blocked, and was now being reintroduced.

The SIC noticed Jazz making his way over to the chest, and fear slipped onto his faceplates before covering it up. "I am fine now Jazz. You may leave."

The spy stopped, sending him a questioning look – or so he thought, as the visor hid most expression. "Ya sure ya don't wanna come and refuel?"

Prowl shook his head. "I am fine for the moment. See you in the morning Jazz." He turned away, staring at the room. It had been far too long. His door wings sensed the saboteur waltzing down the hall. He didn't move till the spark signature was out of range.

Once sure, he stalked over to where the chest was and opened it. There were weapons. Lots of weapons. More so than the Ark's weaponry could boast. And all were extremely deadly. And affective.

Prowl picked up every one of them, evaluating it. There were energon daggers – nine of them from his past days as an enforcer – several plasma riffles, a null ray, two cannons, a scatter gun, an axe, three missile launchers – it was amazing how all of these could fit into a chest. Then again, it was specially designed chest, similar to a sub-dimensional container – a twin energon sword to the one above his berth, several explosives, two sniper riffles, another acid pellet riffle, a close range Cybertronian pistol, two gas bombs, a few regular bombs, confiscated weaponry from criminals – some belonging to Sideswipe – and a pair of Shurikens. The last ones meant a lot to him. Back on Cybertron it had been a gift from his Circuit Su master after he had completed his training. But he knew that he didn't deserve these.

Very few knew about his training in that art. And he didn't want anyone to know. The tactician did not wish to be viewed as a possible danger or threat to those on the Ark. He wanted to be trusted, not feared. And that meant keeping his abilities quiet.

He collapsed to his knees suddenly, as his legs buckled. He was still weak. The weapons lay around him, signaling war, death, and destruction. Yet all of them were so tempting. No more would he be considered the easy target on the battlefield. The SIC could fight back more effectively.

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, Prowl braced himself against the wall and pushed himself up. Leaning on the metal for support, he sighed. A voice in the back of his processor fought to the forefront of his mind. _You are weak! _It screamed at him. He didn't have the effort to disagree.

Pushing away, he stood upright, going to pack away the firearms. But before he could even so much as reach down, everything went black.

* * *

**THE ARK**

**7: 24 A.M**

Prowl's optics on-lined and he stared up at a cloudy sky. The type of clouds that would signal human rain. Then another thought struck him. This was not his office, or his room. He was outside.

Sitting up quickly, the thing he was on shifted. Looking down, he saw that he was on an unstable edge, two thirds of the way up the volcano. And the ledge was not very comforting in the fact that it was about to fall if any other slight movement disturbed it.

That was fine. He would just simply comm. someone and they would help. Albeit it would be humiliating, he preferred humiliation over the wrath of Ratchet.

Unfortunately, fate was a glitch.

A – He forever on hated these things – bird decided that the ledge was a good place to rest, and opted for landing on it. The last thing that Prowl saw was the bird's beady little eyes before he was crashing down this Primus forsaken mountain. The Ark was directly below him, and was coming in fast.

The SIC could feel the dents being added to his frame, along with fresh wounds being opened up, where only flex seals were covering them. It was only supposed to be a temporary thing so that the injuries could heal naturally but now he would have to face Ratchet.

Though not before he had some energon. That would also help him in finding the slaggers who placed him there.

Eventually he landed on the hull of the Ark, with a loud clang. But it didn't stop there. After that, it was falling off the large ship to the dirt ground below.

Raising himself from the ground using his fore arms, the Praxian sighed in defeat. He did not deserve this.

Getting up shakily, he made his way to the accursed rec room, as the tactician had been banned from even going near the officer's hallway. Which meant no socializing free energon dispenser. He'd have to face the crew.

Joy.

Slinking into the Ark he stalked the halls with relative speed till arriving at the rec room. It was early morning, which meant that the night shift would be getting off, and the day shift would be getting their energon. So it would be busy.

Great.

Sighing, he signaled for the door to open, and stepped in, trying to gather as much dignity as possible, and hoping Ratchet was not there. No such luck. But there never is.

"What in the Pit happened to you?!" And here we go. "I fix you a day ago, and look now! Even Wheeljack hasn't destroyed himself yet and he's the most prone to these sorts of things!" The medic shouted, forgetting that the inventor was sitting right beside him. But the mech didn't dare interrupt.

Prowl's door wings flinched. "Not now Ratchet." He waved the CMO off, simply wanting to refuel. He could deal with everything else later.

But – as was expected – the testy Autobot would not give up so easily. "What happened Prowl?" There was a dangerous tone to his voice. The Praxian knew that he wouldn't get energon unless he answered.

"I fell from the volcano." It was an explanation. Brief, but still an explanation. Ratchet blinked in surprise, before returning to angry medic.

"And what I may ask were you doing up there?"

The SIC released a vent. He just wanted a cube of energon, and to return to his quarters. Not undergo an interrogation. No, in fact, he wanted to return to his office and be around work. He was ticked off. "I don't know why I was up there. I don't remember anything of the past night. And frankly, I do not care." His voice and expression had remained emotionless throughout.

The CMO scowled at the Praxian, before standing and stalking over to him. "Listen." He jabbed a finger onto Prowl's dented chassis. "I worked hard to repair you and Wheeljack, and this is what you do! I ought to weld your aft to a-" He began making threats when he was cut off by the one he was threatening.

The tactician's optics were sharp, almost angry. What any of the observers didn't know was that their SIC was experiencing. His mind was seeing in actual clarity. Not muted acceptance. Part of his CPU saw what had always been hidden. The other part was in darkness, his morals and ideals blanketed by true understanding. His logic and battle computer had taken over. He had fallen into another blackout, like the one from last night. "You are able to repair Cybertronians while simultaneously injuring them. You make threats that would supply you with more work, while also inducing pain for the receiver. Yet you are both an asset and a liability. This deems you unstable, and a danger to the Autobot cause."

Ratchet glared at him, taking insult at everything he said. "And what are you going to do about it, you aft-brained glitch head?"

At this moment, Jazz decided to step in while Smokescreen was already taking bets on who would win in a fight, and Sideswipe was recording everything. Now way was he missing this. The TIC placed a hand on the Praxian's shoulder, stopping his friend from replying. "Calm down mechs. Lets not beat each other up while one of ya's still injured."

"No. Fighting between one another is below our standards." Prowl stated, his optics fixed on the medic, almost daring the mech to say otherwise. Ratchet's scowl deepened.

"Huh, as if you could fight. You aint got any spinal struts Prowl. A sparkling could take you down without even trying." Snickers could be heard in the background.

The SIC's servo's curled into fists. "Do not test me."

"There's nothing to test. Sure you can shoot fine, but when it comes hand to hand-" A clang reverberated around the room, and the medic grasped his helm in pain, falling to his knees, finding that there was a large dent now decorating the exterior. The room fell into horrified silence, witnessing what had just happened.

Prowl stood there, door wings flared, with a wrench in his hand, glaring down at the CMO. "Now you understand the pain you inflict. Let it be a lesson." He turned on his heel and left the room. Jazz kneeled next to the medic, who groaned. The saboteur led him over to the seat he had been at, and helped him sit down. All the while, he was replaying what his friend had done.

Nobody spoke for a long time. But then, Sideswipe broke the silence. "Well, Prowl finally lost it. Prepare yourselves mechs, for an Autobot Megatron." The thought was disturbing. Jazz didn't take it to kindly.

"He's not like that Sideswipe. Ah'll check on 'im. There's gotta be more ta it than this." The saboteur defended the Praxian, but even he had doubt. Another groan brought him back to Ratchet.

"How does it hurt so much?" Was all he could ask. Sunstreaker grinned.

"Nope, Prowl did us a great favor. No more wrenches to the helm. We are finally free from wrench tyranny." When you actually thought about it…

"Ah'm gonna see 'im. Maybe make 'im see sense." Jazz stood up and made his way to the door. But stopped as Hound's voice came across the open frequency.

/: Hey, anybody who's listening. Why is Prowl unconscious in the hall?:/ Glances were sent between the gathered Autobots. Well, this day just got stranger and stranger. And for some, better and better.

Ratchet stood from his seat, and made his way to the door, forgetting about the pain. While he may be angry, he had a duty as a medic to help the wounded. Jazz followed, making sure no one else came with them.

It was only a short distance away, but both walked in silence nonetheless. Upon arriving, they were greeted with the scene of a face down Prowl, energon pooling around him from his wounds, and Hound standing next to him, fidgeting uncomfortably. He looked up when they came over, and a relieved smile spread across his faceplates.

"Good you're here. I found him like this when I came in from patrol." There was mud covering his frame. "He wasn't bleeding energon when I commed but it started about half a minute ago." That was testament enough as to how fast he was losing the valued substance that was life blood.

The medic sighed. "Get him to the med bay. Afterwards, I can give him a piece of my mind." The last part was ground out.

Hound and Jazz cringed.

* * *

**THE ARK**

**8: 23 A.M**

Prowl woke up with a jolt. Then gasped and grabbed his side in pain. There was a new flex seal there. What happened?

His sensors picked up three other spark signatures in the room. Ratchet, Jazz and Hound. His confusion only deepened. They were watching him. He tried to remember. He had been in the rec room, and then blacked out.

This was not helping him. "What happened?"

Ratchet's engine revved. "That's what I'd like to know. You didn't crash, you didn't offline due to energon loss, and for once it wasn't falling unconscious due to lack of energon or recharge. So maybe you could explain." There was barely controlled anger in his voice.

The SIC blinked. "I… do not know. I remember being in the recreation room. Then I blacked out."

The medic raised an optic ridge at that. "No, you off-lined in the hall, after you were in the rec room. And after you hit me with a wrench!" Let the shouting begin. The Praxian didn't remember any of this.

"When did I do that?" Genuine confusion flickered across his faceplates before being hidden by the infamous mask of neutrality. The CMO scowled at the reply, not what he wanted to hear.

"Just now dammit! And don't play dumb! You know what you did!" Jazz was preparing himself to intervene at a moments notice. Prowl stood up from the medical berth.

"I truthfully do not know what you are talking about Ratchet. I do not even have a wrench." He defended himself. The medic stormed over and grabbed his arm, accessing his subspace controls. The SIC's optics widened in shock, but he didn't dare move.

Scanning the mech's subspace, Ratchet noted that there was no wrench. In fact, all there was were datapads and pieces of equipment that looked like they belonged in Wheeljack's lab. Along with three vials of…

"Quasson?" The medic questioned. He knew what this was, and was instantly preparing to strap the tactician to a berth and check him for the substance in his energon stream. Prowl blinked and un-sub-spaced the vials.

"These belong to Wheeljack. They were in his lab at the time of the explosion when we were removing items so as to withstand the explosion." He explained, but knew that Ratchet was unconvinced. "If you wish to check then you may scan my processor." He had made sure to block the actual memories of his Quasson addiction.

The fiery CMO considered this for a moment, before shaking his head, and giving up. "No, that will not be necessary. There may be some problems in your processor that occurred during the surgery, which made you lash out at me, but hopefully they will be fixed on their own. Something similar happened with 'Jack, so you get a little bit of leeway in this. Just don't do it again!" There was a warning note in his voice. Prowl nodded quickly, muttering apologies for what he supposedly did.

He still hadn't gotten any energon.

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW

Alright, so far so good.

We are now delving into the affects of the withdrawal of the Quasson. Any thoughts or ideas, please share.

I would like to thank the awesome people who reviewed last chapter:

PoetofMercury

kittycatcalamity

Grifen345

silberstreif

And anyone else who has previously reviewed, or favourite/ followed the Fanfic. To anyone who reads 'Mistakes Can Be Positive' I am sorry that I am late, it is just I have been trying to get this one out, so I'll just see where it goes.

And happy new year, for when it comes around.


	3. Infiltrator

**MEDICINE**

* * *

**THE ARK**

**2: 17 A.M **

Prowl stared at the ceiling from his berth. While it was an uncomfortable position for his door wings, he had given up. Try as he might, he could just not fall into stasis. He felt drained, yet his processor wouldn't shut down for the required rest. The Praxian sighed, and pushed himself up.

Why had they thought that he had hit Ratchet? There was no wrench, and he had no recollection of such a thing happening.

Prowl dropped his helm into his servos. What in the Pit was going on? He blacked out once; he ended up on a mountain. He blacked out twice and he end up in the med bay, being accused of something he obviously didn't do.

And when he had arrived back, all the weapons which had previously been on the floor – minus the energon swords and Shurikens, which he sub-spaced for future use – were nowhere in sight. They weren't in the chest either. So he had gone to the weaponry as another – albeit farfetched – option. Neither were they there.

Prowl had assumed that the Quasson had left his systems. Now he was rethinking that assumption. The blackouts were one thing. He didn't know how much more there was.

A warning flashed across his CPU that he needed to refuel. That was right. He hadn't been able to acquire the needed energon before the black out. He released a weary vent. The ground looked very shifty.

Standing up quickly, Prowl regretted that movement instantly as he crashed to the ground. That undoubtedly woke up somebody. He hissed in pain. The tactician lay on his side on the floor, one of his door wings scraping the ground. The coolness of the metal was welcoming. He didn't know why though.

Prowl attempted to lift himself up. It required so much effort. He leaned against the side of the berth, drawing in ragged cycles of air to cool his heated frame. In a rare show, he actually cursed. "Fragging Quasson." The world was moving around him at odd angles, all blending in to each other. He saw energon cover the walls as hallucinations danced in front of his eyes. He saw himself killing others, his friends, his leader. Felt the raw power coming from his nonexistent actions.

A bloodlust welled up inside him. He felt the need to hurt, to… to kill. To feel the satisfaction of power. To wield the weapons he had trained for. He wanted to rip out a mechs spark and-

His mind recoiled at the violent thoughts. What was happening to him? He had never been openly violent. Even when fighting Decepticons, he made sure that immediate death was not an option.

But he no longer wanted to be regarded as the defenseless SIC. Sure, they knew he was fine with shooting, but with actual fighting? If they understood what a danger he was, they would never think like that again.

A sudden pain racked his frame. His optics burned fiercely. Prowl put a servo to one of the optics and pulled it away, seeing energon on his fingers. He was bleeding through them.

The Praxian couldn't even cry out in pain, as his vocal pipes erupted in static. This was worse than the explosion, worse than the blinding pain he had experienced. This seemed as though it would never end.

He gasped as a tearing sensation went through his processor. It happened quickly in reality, but to him, it felt like being tortured by Unicron himself. It faded to a dull throb eventually, but the physical pain did not let up.

Time slurred together. He couldn't understand the things that were happening. Prowl was trapped in a grasp that didn't allow him to do anything to stop the pain. He could move, but that was the end of it.

His whole form was shaking, and he coughed up energon during this. Still unable to accomplish any feat of stopping the continued onslaught, he remained on the ground, hoping that Primus would take him. Though now, the prospect of the almighty Transformer was growing slimmer and slimmer with every single mental stab. What God would allow this?

He didn't know when it stopped, but the ragged breaths calmed, and his frame no longer felt it was being internally burned. He drew in a deep vent, cooling his temperature. The world was slightly fuzzy, and out of focus. Had he been aware of his surroundings, Prowl would've noted the presence of a certain Decepticon crouching in the corner of his quarters, hidden in the shadows. Ravage had heard everything. And now, the 'Cons had the weakness of one of the highest ranking mechs in the Autobot army. In the form of a drug.

The SIC sat up properly. His joints still ached incredibly, but not so much as before. He wiped away the energon from his optics and regarded the room. Energon covered the floor, and he noted that at one point – he couldn't remember – he may have purged.

His frame was covered in the stuff as well. The Bot was simply glad nobody else had been there to witness this. Somehow, he found his voice again, and let out a pained groan. Regaining a slight amount of strength, he stood up.

His quarters were a mess.

Sighing, Prowl knew that he would have to clean this up. And his own frame. He began removing the half processed energon. Nobody could know about what was happening. His entire life depended on it. Being SIC was a tough job, and it took a lot to get to this position. Not all of it good.

He had to do things that he wasn't proud of. Remove Bots from the equation. Permanently. All assumed that they had died in battle. Wrong.

The Praxian didn't even realise that at this moment, his mind was continuing with hallucinations, but in a more subdued level.

There was no more energon in the room. It was relatively easy to remove. Prowl walked to the door and opened it. He was feeling far stronger than before. He simply hoped he'd survive getting to and back from the wash racks.

Ravage took the opportunity of the available exit and darted out, completely missed by the half aware tactician. Deciding to pay one last visit to the Autobot weaponry, Soundwave's disciple made his way through the darkened hallways at an accelerated speed, Prowl quite a way behind him now.

It could almost be considered purposeful when the Decepticon ran by the camera.

The Tactician could barely make out anything in front of him. The floor was a blurry mass, and any objects that he passed by were basically invisible. There was a ringing in his audios that blocked out any other sound, and only static came from his communications line.

Halfway to his location, the blurry floor turned from the dark blue – even though the floor was originally orange – to a flashing red.

His processor wasn't to clouded that he released an alarm was going off. And a sudden fear that rose within him. They couldn't find out about what happened.

Pushing against his limits, and causing himself much unneeded pain, the SIC began running down the corridor, his door wings the only things keeping him from running into a wall.

Once arriving outside the familiar door of the wash racks his vision and hearing cleared. To be greeted with Red Alert's paranoid voice screeching into his audio receptors. He let out a pained cry, as another tearing sensation went through his processor. He fell to his knees; servo's clasped to the sides of his helm. He coughed again, and energon drops spattered the floor.

He just wanted it to end. He wanted out from this pit that he was stuck in. wanted out from earth and the disrespectful Bots that he worked with. The Praxian hated them all. Hated the humans that frequently visited the Ark. Hated everything. And he wanted them to suffer.

Once again, Prowl blacked out.

* * *

**THE ARK**

**3: 27 A.M**

Red Alert's optics never left the multiple monitor screens. His paranoia both helped, and destroyed him. Inferno sat in a seat next to him, but the mech was only half awake. They'd been working non-stop for a few days, and the security director and his first lieutenant were beginning to feel the affects of recharge deprivation.

How in Primus' name did Prowl last for weeks on end? It was slagging impossible!

Nothing had happened so far, and neither had anything occurred for the past few days. Even though Red Alert wouldn't admit it, they were bored. Anything would be great round about now.

As if Primus himself was granting their wish, a black blur tore across one of the screens. Inferno didn't even have a chance to speak before his superior was shouting into every communications line and speaker system there was.

"Decepticon! Decepticon in the base!" He listed off the coordinates, and then continued shouting, making sure that even the off-lined would hear him. The mech next to him cringed.

"Red, calm down! You don't need to alert the entire base!" He reprimanded his superior and friend. It didn't help. The security director was adamant that it was a 'Con, and no matter what any one else said, he was going to catch him.

Turning to the other Bot, he issued an order. "Inferno. Stay and monitor the controls. I'm gonna make sure that this infiltrator doesn't get away!" Before said mech could object to the commands, Red Alert had un-sub-spaced his riffle and was running out of the room.

Jazz jumped out of his berth instantly when the alarm had been sounded, his weapon drawn. Being Special Ops meant being ready at a moments notice. And being able to go undercover.

Opening the door, he stepped out into the hallway, where other mechs – who were very annoyed at the interruption to their well deserved recharge time – stood, weapons raised. They had the coordinates of where the 'Con was, but why should everyone have to go? It was just one Decepti-creep.

Being the highest ranking mech in the entire passage, Jazz started issuing orders. "Bluestreak, Brawn, ya mechs wit' me. Tha rest, continue as ya were." Two unhappy groans was the reply he got. Others simply went back to their quarters.

Gesturing to the two unlucky mechs, they hurriedly made their way down the hallways of the Ark, arriving to where the Con had been sighted. Ironhide and Red Alert were there as well, just coming up.

"Alrigh' Red. Wha's his direction?" The saboteur asked. The security director glanced around, as if expecting more Autobots to be there. He shook himself out of those thoughts and began explaining.

"He's heading in the direction of the wash racks and weaponry."

"Both of which are dead ends." Ironhide concluded. "This'll be easy. He won't be able to get away." The sound of whirring cannons had the others shifting uneasily. They were now 'Con Hunting' with the most trigger happy mech in the Autobots.

Yep.

"Be on guard." Warned the paranoid security director. "We don't know what kind of firearms he has possession of. I wasn't able to get any sort of identification on who he was, so there are hundreds if not thousands of possibilities to how this could play out. It could be relatively minor, with us capturing him, or it could be high scale and result in the Decepticons winning the war. Or one – if not all – of us could die, which would result in the termination of valuable information that could save the rest of the crew, and not to mention…" He continued. Brawn smirked.

"Congrats Blue. Somebody finally outtalked you." The Praxian blinked.

"What are you talking about?" He demanded. "I don't talk too much, I talk just enough. You all talk way too much about the war, and fighting to see what type of a world we landed on, and to experience its inhabitant's cultures, which include a wide variety, ranging from religions to simple hobbies like sports, or the arts, such as painting, sculpting-"

"Never mind!" Brawn stopped him, waving a servo in the air to silence the ramble. Red Alert was still going on.

Jazz placed a servo on the rambling mech's shoulder. "Red. Pay attention. We still 'ave ta find 'im. And that'll be accomplished if we actually go lookin'." Ah Jazz. Your words of wisdom know no bounds.

The security director nodded. "You're right… but remember what I told you!" He transformed and sped in the direction that he had pinpointed the 'Con. His speed could rival Blurr's at the moment.

The others followed suit, but without transforming. Honestly, Decepticon hunting just wasn't in them today. Considering that it was night, and they were interrupted from recharge, by the most paranoid being in the universe.

They were stopped halfway however when they came to an intersection of hallways, and a trail of energon leading towards the wash racks. Red Alert was examining it.

"… The infiltrator didn't seem injured when he went by the monitors." The security director commented. "Then again, it was really fast."

"And somebody could've already been chasing him, and they could have gotten in a shot." Bluestreak added. It was a point none of them could dismiss. Ironhide growled, growing impatient.

"Well we aint gonna stop the 'Con if we all stand around here doin' nothing." There was a note of anger and authority in his voice. "Bluestreak, Brawn, you two check the wash racks. We'll check the weaponry."

The two who were signified nodded with a certain amount of intimidation of the larger mech, and made their way down the dead end corridor that invited the possibility of a Decepticon spy, and an energon trail.

Jazz took front and headed into the weaponry corridor. It wasn't a very long hallway, but the lights had been malfunctioning in this part of the ship, so activation of them was a no go.

There was a single doorway off to the left side of the wall, which housed the weaponry. They went towards it, weapons raised.

The comm. lines crackled to life /: The wash racks are empty. There is energon in here, and it looks like somebody used the appliances. But otherwise, zilch:/ Brawn's voice updated them. Red sent an affirmative ping.

They walked cautiously to the door, but the saboteur stopped, thus halting the other's progress. Ironhide's engine revved.

"What's the hold up Jazz? I need to beat a Decepti-creep's faceplates in now, or I'll find somebody else to take it out on." The threat hung in the air, until he and the security director noticed just what it was that had stopped them.

The spy's attention was on the large hole at the end of the corridor, which looked as though it had been eaten away.

A very familiar acid pellet riffle lay just in front of it.

* * *

**PORTLAND**

**7: 21 A.M**

The sky was dark with rain clouds. Prowl on-lined his optics groggily, as rain started to patter against his armor. The first thing that popped into his processor was: _Where am I?_

Sitting up – while simultaneously wincing in pain from the events of the last night – he noticed that his surroundings resembled a park in the city. It was just outside a courthouse as well.

There were a couple of humans on the pavement, and to say they were looking at him strangely would be an understatement. Most were practically gawking. And it was unnerving. When it came to social situations, everything eluded him.

Especially with humans.

He wondered what had happened after he blacked out. All he really understood was that he had a terrible processor ache, and his fuel and recharge levels were bordering on critical.

The tactician checked his frame over. There was no energon covering him. Well, that made things a whole lot easier.

Sighing, the Praxian stood up. The Quasson was becoming a pest. He cursed his creators. Surprisingly though, he didn't feel any craving for the drug. Maybe he would be spared such… uncertainty. Prowl most definitely did not want to be jumpy around his coworkers if he once again started needing it.

While transforming and making his way down the road, the Autobot wondered if there was any way to pin this on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

. . .

**THE ARK**

**7: 42 A.M**

Jazz, Ironhide, Optimus, Ratchet and Red Alert all stood at the entrance to the Ark, as Prowl trudged up the mountainside. To conserve energy and not end up unconscious at the base of the volcano, the SIC had opted to walk instead. How in Primus name did humans survive this?

The astrosecond he was in hearing range did his commander begin speaking. "Prowl…" but to the Praxian it was a battering ram to his audio receptors. Why was the Prime being so loud? It was like hearing a sparkling having a screaming fit.

He then realised that his 'Ears' were set to their highest frequency. Lowering the volume to its normal level, he could now listen to his leader without cringing.

"Where were you last night?" The Matrix bearer asked. But it was less of an accusation and more of a concerned question.

Prowl thought about that. For five hours he had been in his quarters, then for a few minutes he had been in the Ark's hallways and then… nothing. If he had a better answer, it would have been given willingly, but telling your superior commander that you have no idea how you ended up in a human park-

His optics widened as Prowl realised he had spoken aloud. Thank you again Quasson. And again, sincerest of gratitude to his creators. And the Praxian has discovered sarcasm.

There was a moment of silence before Jazz spoke. "Uh… why were ya at a human park?"

Prowl scowled at his friend, which startled the others. "I do not know, and honestly I don't care. Many strange things have been happening since that explosion in Wheeljack's lab. And is there a reason all of you are standing here?" He changed the topic around. Ironhide held out the acid pellet riffle. The SIC was caught off guard. He turned dangerously fixed optics on the weapons specialist. "Where did you get that?" It was asked so calmly, yet with restrained anger. The others were surprised by this 'Other side'.

The larger mech hesitated a moment. "Found it next to a hole in the side of the Ark that had been eaten away by the acid. And seen as-" He was stopped. By an outraged Prowl.

"LIES!" The Praxian shouted. Red Alert actually took a step back at the outburst. Ironhide raised an optic ridge in confusion.

"What in Primus are ya talking about? I'm telling you that I found it next to-"

"That's what you would like me to think slaggit!" And Prowl swore openly. And loud enough for Ark members to hear. Sideswipe looked up from his place in the rec room.

"Did you hear that?" He asked his brother. Sunstreaker glanced up from his energon cube.

"Hear what?" The golden front-liner demanded. His brother paused for a moment.

"I'm positive I just heard Prowl swear."

The vain twin scoffed before looking back at his energon cube. "You're losing it mech. When it's the day Prowl swears, the whole Pit'll freeze over and Megatron will surrender and the war will be over." Alright Sunny, we're waiting.

Jazz placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, but a hurt expression covered his faceplates when Prowl swatted it away angrily, growling at the attempt to calm him. The SIC turned back to the weapons specialist, pinning him with the most hated glare one could muster.

"Where are they Ironhide?!" He demanded. The larger mech was at a loss to what he was talking about. Prowl grew impatient. "You're the most destructive Autobot we have here you slagger! You'll do anything to get your fragging servos on those weapons!" He was giving Ratchet a run for his money. Optimus attempted to intervene.

"Prowl, please calm down. Please tell us what is wrong and why you are lash-"

The glare he got could have stopped Unicron, and turned the devastator into a whimpering sparkling. The Second in Command went back into his interrogation/accusation.

"I know you took those firearms. Where are the plasma riffles, the energon daggers, the scatter gun, the null rays, the axe, the missile launchers, the pistol, the sniper riffles?!" His voice was still raised, and this was the most emotion they had ever seen him display. Ironhide grew defensive, not one to be intimidated.

"I aint seen no weapons and this was found next to a hole in the Ark! I don't even know what you are talking about with missile launchers, and plasma riffles!" The weapons specialist's shouting was enough to trigger something in Prowl, and the Tactician lunged at the mech, downing him in a moment with swift movements, his servo closed around the mech's next, and all the vital energon lines. He snarled down at him.

"Where are my weapons you bastard?" The Praxian hissed. Immediately, Jazz and Ratchet were beside him, trying to remove their superior from threateningly holding Ironhide's life at his mercy. But the SIC wasn't having any of it.

The saboteur was the next to go down, with a well placed punch to his jaw. The spy stared up at his friend, who suddenly looked very dangerous.

Optimus took action. "Prowl!" His voice was commanding. "What are you doing? Stop this right now!" An audience had gathered at the entrance of the Ark, who had eventually picked up on the commotion, and were sending messages to other's about the events currently taking place. Bluestreak stood at the front, shock written over his face at how… well _not _Prowl, Prowl was being.

The SIC turned to his leader. Optimus noticed how his friend's optics had changed to a 'Bordering on red' colour. The Prime suppressed a shudder as one of his most trusted advisers spoke in a voice eerily similar to Megatron's. Not in sound, but more in… danger.

"You're not going to stop me _Optimus_." The leader's name was spat. "I have been stuck with you for the past six million years, along with your pathetic excuse of an army! I have had enough, and being nearly killed has opened my optics to what is really going on. This war will never end till either you or Megatron are dead. It'll be a long time till that happens." Many Bots took this the wrong way, and believed Prowl was going to kill the Prime. Ratchet was one of the first to come to that false conclusion, and brought out one of his saws to attack the mech who used to be a close friend.

He didn't even get close.

A shuriken imbedded itself in his shoulder, and he cried out with a shout of pain. It was then ripped out of that plating as Prowl retrieved the weapon. Sub-spacing it again, he just missed Ironhide's fist flying past his faceplates.

Once again, with fluid movements that nobody knew he could accomplish, the weapons mech was downed. Except this time, a dagger was being held to his throat.

Nobody moved, as the situation shot up to a new level. Prowl smiled maniacally, as his mind eventually just… lost it.

He laughed quietly. "Come any closer and he dies. Understood?" It was like a mad Bot was speaking.

"What's going on here?" A female voice asked. Carly stood with Spike a few meters away from the scene. Looks of confusion were evident.

The tactician's smile widened. He laughed again. "Human. _Humans._ Soon, there will be no more. Goodbye organics."

The two teenagers stared at him, before Spike glanced over to where Bumblebee stood. "… Uh… 'Bee? What's going on, and why does Prowl look like he finally lost it?"

Before the boy's guardian could reply, the black and white Praxian had let go of Ironhide and had walked over to the two organics. This immediately set the other Bots off, who began running to the human's aid. There was no telling what Prowl would do.

The tactician lost the smile, though the crazed look never left his optics. "Goodbye organics." He un-sub-spaced a trigger button, and pressed it just before both Bumblebee and Mirage tackled him.

A loud bang could be heard. Except that it was coming from the town. And there was smoke billowing up into the air. Right where Prowl had been earlier that day, at the park.

There was a momentary pause as the Bots took in what just happened. That was enough for the SIC to throw off the two spies, and pull out his energon swords, crossing them in front of him protectively and backing away.

He laughed again. "Goodbye organics." Suddenly, the mech blinked rapidly. To Prowl's own perspective he had blacked out again, and was now coming to. Taking in everything around him, he realised what he had done.

The one thought that ran through his processor as he sub-spaced the energon swords, transformed and drove away from the Ark, was this.

He had lost everything.

* * *

**THE NEMESIS**

**17: 04 P.M**

Megatron, Starscream and Soundwave watched the video footage that Ravage had recorded. It was astonishing to say the least. The Decepticon had followed the Autobot Second in Command, and had watched as he had set up a bomb to go off underneath the human court house once he was a certain distance away.

Then the mech had crashed to the ground in an organic park. Megatron grinned evilly. "This is too good to be true. The SIC of the Autobots is on Quasson. This will be an interesting piece of blackmail." Or it would simply be fun to see his rival's faceplates when the 'Con leader revealed that one of his most trusted lieutenants was in fact a scum bag drug addict, who was trying to kick a very destructive habit. The tactician wouldn't survive the whole withdrawal. Nobody ever did.

Starscream studied the video. He had known Cybertronians who had gone through with Quasson. While on the drug, they acted normally. But if they tried to stop…

All of those mechs were now dead. They never made it through the whole thing. The air commander honestly didn't know why anybot even did such a thing. Quasson didn't make you feel good or anything.

The seeker wanted to know the reason why Prowl – of all mechs – had been using it. And for how long as well. His leader let out a blood curdling laugh.

"This is too good to be true! Imagine Optimus Prime's reaction to such news. He will be shattered, the Autobots will lose their top Tactician, and the Decepticons will overpower them!" Schemes were running through his processor at an alarming rate. Soundwave intervened.

"If I may, Lord Megatron." He spoke in his monotone voice. The mech continued. "Our word may not be believed. We should make the Praxian break under his own addiction."

That garnered the other commander's attention. The lord Protector regarded him for a moment. "What are you suggesting Soundwave?"

And the Con explained.

Megatron had never been more gruesomely happy since coming to earth.

* * *

PLEASE REVIEW

For those of you who read "Objectives" and "Mistakes Can Be Positive" I am informing you that I shall be taking a break, to complete writing many one shot ideas that have pounced on me. It would mean a lot if you could also see those, while I also understand that you guys must be really ticked off by the fact that I inform you of this after you all waited so long for this – and other – chapters to come out. I am still doing those Fanfictions, simply wanting to finish off one shots.

I want to thank the people who reviewed last chapter, you guys are brilliant, these are the most reviews I have gotten for a Fanfiction which was short in a long time:

silberstreif

MoonWallker – Big thanks. A lot of your ideas were used in this chapter, so thank you very much!

kittycatcalamity

Yami-Yugi3

poetofMercury

Neon

LunarNightDreamer

And anyone else who has previously reviewed, or favourite/ followed the Fanfic. Sorry for the long wait, but I hope this chapter made up for it. If there are any ideas, it would be great. Heads up, next chapter is battle!


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